


A MidWinter Daydream

by Amongthedeep



Category: Original Work
Genre: Family Drama, Family Issues, Fantasy, Female Friendship, Gen, Giants, Original Fiction, Strong Woman/Weak Man, Unicorns, mild child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amongthedeep/pseuds/Amongthedeep
Summary: Arien lives with a commanding, overbearing mother and a weak-willed father, and her future is ruled by her mother wanting her learning with the Potion's Master, instead of learning under Lettie's apprenticeship.Connected to An Autumn's Daydream, but not a necessary read.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Started on 2014 but finished on 29/3/2015, I consider it the best work I've written and the one that I finished feeling peaceful and complete, and like I couldn't do better.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=f1ky1w)

"Dad!" Arien stamped her foot. "Please, you gotta tell mom not to."  
Mr. Ashford pushed his round glasses up his nose, peering down at her through his hawk nose. "I'm afraid I can't, your mom decided so and so it is."  
"But—!"  
"But nothing, Arien, now please stop and go away," her father said and returned back to his beaten brown cover book.  
Arien sulkily went away, twisting the knob of the wood door with as much strength as she could. Seeing the red mark on her palm made her feel better.  
Mrs. Ashford was preparing the bread soup, the kitchen full of steam and heat from the big wooden fireplace. Arien entered it meekly, peering through her combed back hair at every movement her mother did – almost like a dog.  
"Arien Jecie stop that right now!" her mother shrieked, hitting her head with a wooden spoon.  
"But mom, everything but the potions master!" Arien cried. "You know I hate the smelly, musty place and that wrinkly old man that smells like dried-up wood!"  
"Enough," Mrs. Ashford threatened, her hand poised on her hardwood sandal.  
"Fine," Arien said dejectedly, and ran away furious.  
Maisie Williams was on the bed, playing with her rag-doll, when Arien stormed in, sobbing with closed fists. They'd been friends for such a long time, Arien sometimes thought they were sisters till the bell rang and Maisie's mother would be serving them with pastries and a jug full of cranberry juice.  
"Must you come like a storm?" Maisie said, making the rag-doll back-flip through the air.  
"I'm miserable, so there!" Arien said, plopping down on the divine feather mattress.  
"Why's that, now?" said Maisie, cocking an eyebrow.  
"Potions master," Arien said, pouting.  
Maisie threw the doll between them, and sat back up, fixing her twisted collar. "For I am to go to the Lettie shop, and I hate it!"  
"I'd give anything for Lettie's shop," Arien said.  
"I'd prefer the potions master, at least he looks weak minded enough," said Maisie with a sly smile.  
So Arien had an idea, rather ingenious at that. "Then, let's change places! I'll be happy with Lettie, and you potions master, so if we exchange..."  
"No," Maisie said readily. "It wouldn't work at all, we're too different, they'd know."  
"But," Maisie continued, "if you discover a spell, or I one, we could exchange our appearance and everything would be fine as peaches!"  
With that agreed, Arien returned home skipping through the shallow spring woods, not even caring about the pigs smell that had entered her nose from Nanny Gram's house.  
Mr. Ashford had his book in front of his nose, while Mrs. Ashford poured the food into his plate. "Put it down now, or else..."  
Mr. Ashford, which he refused Arien to call him Jivies because it was a very silly name, put it down glumly. "No need for that, Missy."  
Mrs. Ashford glared at him, since she disliked Missy just as much as he disliked Jivies, and put the soup with some vigor into Arien's plate, causing it to splash whichever way, making Mr. Ashford squirm the book into his lap quite fretfully.  
"And if you so much as say anything, Arien Jecie, I'll spank you into blackness," Mrs. Ashford threatened.  
Arien nodded sullenly, and scooped the bread soup into her mouth, trying to ignore the strong taste of dirt.  
She was quite miserable, while her parents ignored each other quite politely before their usual row.  
It was after dinner, as usual, that they started.  
"Jannete has been around your office," Mrs. Ashford said, wringing her napkin.  
"Hmm," said Mr. Ashford, quite intent on his book.  
"I'm talking to you," Missy said, crossing her beefy arms. "So you better put that book down, now, Jivies."  
"Sigh," Jivies Ashford said, straightening on his ratted couch. "Please, love, not now. This chapter is about vivise—"  
"I DON'T CARE!" bellowed Mrs. Ashford. "You're betraying me, aren't you?!"  
Mr. Ashford sighed again, and straightened his crooked glasses. "Nonsense, I can only see you."  
Missy Ashford frowned. "Is that a jab at my weight? If I'm fat it's your fault, yours and the kid!"  
"Nonsense, again, dear. You're the person I quite like, and didn't mind spending my days beside," he said quite sullenly.  
"Didn't? So that means you now mind," Mrs. Ashford said, rising from her flowery, crick-y chair.  
As Mr. Ashford sighed, Missy Ashford socked him from his jaw up, then wrung him from behind, his neck making dangerous snapping sounds. Mr. Ashford wailed for help from Arien. Arien hid below the table, clamping her ears from the crash of the blue-tinted vase, the violet flowers scattering on the wet carpet and getting stamped on by Mrs. Ashford dirty leather boots. Then came the sound of the ratted couch falling behind, crashing against the little ivory table and like a domino, crashing into the flowery chair which all came toppling down into the floor, surrounding them.  
"HEEELP," Mr. Ashford cried, getting his neck and airways crushed by Mrs. Ashford beefy hands.  
"You stop that, stop that ruckus, stop right now," Missy Ashford said, purple-red faced and huffing and puffing.  
Arien took that downtime chance and fled from the table into the attic, hearing the faint wails from Jivies Ashford and the loud booms of Missy Ashford back and forth until there was dead silence surrounding the house.  
Arien shivered, surrounded by her green stained coat, looking through the small opened window. There was a sweet mother ushering the smaller children, sternly telling them to get inside, yet a little smile pulled at the mother's lips as they boohooed her. “If only I'd been born with an elegant, beautiful, kind mother, I'm sure I'd be a better person and also have more potential,” Arien thought. “Like this, I'll always be inferior to others, less than them, strange and bizarre. I'll never amount to much, will I?”  
She was rubbing her eyes, feeling their familiar itchiness of wanting to cry, when her father climbed in and sat beside her.  
"She's beautiful and gentle," Arien remarked.  
Mr. Ashford patted his marked neck and looked. "Yes, quite."  
"So why didn't you marry someone like that, Dad?"  
Jivies Ashford sighed, and looked into her brown eyes. "Because love, and because your mother was different, we're all different when we're younger. We change with time, with our surroundings, things happen."  
Arien stared at her father."That's hardly an excuse."  
"But it's not," her father said solemnly."It's not an excuse, at all."  
"Then why say it at all? Then...why?" said Arien, wiping tears.  
"Because you'll want logical explanations to what is illogical, so don't prep yourself to be disappointed," Mr. Ashford said smiling, and patted her knee. "Come help me clean the house, she's left for a row with Mrs. Williams, I'm sure."  
It was with a sunken heart that Arien put back the couch, the overthrown table, the chair; cleaned the broken fragments of the vase, threw the flowers into the garbage sack, wrung the carpet, unstained it because of all the green bits gluing themselves to the fabric, until at long last, it looked like nothing had ever happened.  
Her father had sat in the couch and fallen asleep, snoring away while she did everything. As usual. She did not begrudge him, and perhaps deep down she did, for everything made her angry and repressed.  
Maisie Williams sat outside her house, throwing lime rocks at the road, making the chickens roar. If Missy Ashford had been there, Maisie would have taken a beating of such degrees, Mrs. Williams would have come to the house and have a fighting match till one of them broke an arm or a leg. Fortunately, Mrs. Ashford had left and so Arien ran to her encounter.  
"Have you found it?"  
Maisie yawned. "Nope, but let's go visit the potions master, I'm sure we can nick something from him."  
So with a wink from Maisie and a reluctant sigh of Arien, they strut down the beaten down path, through the pine trees on their left and the shops on their right, and entered into the forest. At this time of the year, between Winter and Spring, the trees would be bare, the soil wet yet hard, and you could see miles of naked earth and tree stumps wherever you looked. It wasn't scary. However, during Autumn and Winter, right when the days become dark at 2 pm, the forest would be dense and black, seeing barely any ground or tree by themselves. Almost like an enchanted, devilish forest.  
Arien felt quite relieved that the forest was barren, there were phew things that scared her more than dense trees surrounding her whichever way, without ever knowing the way back home. Maisie strolled in front, humming a disjointed and out-of-pitch tune, her rubbers boots crunching through the dead twigs scattered in the floor.  
Getting to the potions master's was easy, the path so well trodden that it made a makeshift path through the trees. Maisie never once tired, while Arien had to pant and puff red-faced lagging behind.  
The damp wooden cottage, covered with green moss, sat on a little hill inside of the forest. It was easily pinpointed by the little rows of fragrant herbs leading to its front heavy door. Perhaps it was magic, or maybe they were resilient plants, but all year round they stayed fresh and in mint state. They dripped with the morning mildew, staining the hands with grass green so shockingly vivid, one couldn't help be amazed.  
The door was slightly ajar, hanging dried herbs peeking out from the wood beams, the potions master sweeping the dusty floor. Cloud-like blizzards of dust swarmed outside, covering them both like fine thin mist. Alerted by all the shrill coughing and hacking, the potions master swung the door open and peered at them with half-shut eyes.  
"And who mightcha be?" he inquired, peering into their faces.  
"I'm— urgh," Arien said, getting an elbow to her gut.  
"I'm Arien, nice to meet you, master," said Maisie, bowing with a sweet smile.  
Arien stared and gave a shaky smile. "I'm Maisie." Had her tremulous voice given her away? She hoped not.  
"I see, I see, the young cub who shall work witta me, come in," Potions Master said, ushering them inside.  
Arien peered into the hollow skull on the washing sink while Maisie inspected the piles of ratty, stained books, the instruments to powder the herbs and prepare them in various ways. The place was clean but worse than Arien had imagined, it was dreadful and dull, she could already see herself turn brown and withered like the herbs around them. Maisie tried to strike conversation with the potions master, but he kept on sweeping the floor, gnawing at some roots that he spat in a bowl. The bowl steadily filled with the mushy, chewed brown sludge as he knocked piles of dusty books that gave them fits of coughing again, the pling-pling sound of his spitting, turning the place into a ruckus. The books sent loose pages everywhere, Arien caught a couple, not understanding the spidery writing on it.  
In the end, they fled outside, spitting the dust in their throats near the bushes, Maisie clutching pages.  
"This is full of chicken scrawl!" Maisie said, outraged.  
Arien nodded. "I noticed inside, I didn't think you'd want them."  
"Are you deaf? Have you not understood a single word I've said?" Maisie said, throwing the pages to the ground, stomping on them. "This whole trip was useless, and you're no help at all! Forget it, I'll do it myself."  
Maisie left in a huff, leaving Arien to gather the pages and dust them off, returning inside. She had no affection for the potions master, but she couldn't be rude and let important work fester outside, her conscious wouldn't allow her. Besides, she was used to cleaning.  
Potions master was covering a lark with the brown mush, his table full of rags with spots. He peered at her, showing her surprisingly white teeth.  
"Ah, you returned, did you, young cub? Maisie left you?" he said, chuckling at her surprise. "Didcha think I wouldn't smell the lies? I'm old, not stupid."  
Arien looked down, at her muddy shoes. "I'm sorry."  
The old man cackled."If you wantcha make it up to me, come help."  
So help she did, gathering all the white and yellow pages loose on the floor and stacking them underneath the skull, bringing the heavy-bound books outside that sent huge clouds of dust each time they got shaken; she took down the dry, crackling herbs from the ceiling, and instructed by the potions master, tied fresh ones to the ceiling—she almost fell from the ladder; then, with a red spotted rag, she scrubbed the stained counters with hot water and vinegar mix until she grew red and hot and sat in the floor, watching the potions master knead lark and brown mush together round and round inside the bowl. It turned hard like argyle.  
The potions master peered at her with a grin, hand waving her over. She came next to him, feeling small and helpless because he was doing magic with herbs.  
"Now, you pay attention and help me, gottchit?" he said, removing a pouch from his hip.  
She nodded, smiling nervously, twiddling her thumbs and focusing on breathing.  
He poured a little bit of glitter-dust from the pouch. "Steer it."  
She gripped the bowl and the ladle, mixing the glitter clockwise. The potions master dropped something red and viscous inside that refused to mix properly. Arien grunted, putting more strength in it because the argyle was also hardening. He potions master threw something foamy and pearl-like that liquefied the mixture into mush and made the red thing bind with the foamy, turning it pink until it made the argyle turn white. Arien stared confused at it, not understanding how it'd gone white out of nowhere.  
The potions master cackled, "Now mix it in reverse."  
Magic happened. Everything started to unglue, the white turning to pink, then white, then red and brown, then brown, until things started turning and changing into orange and green, until the paste turned black. Arien gasped, stepping away from the bowl and table, wide eyes fixed on the potions master white grin.  
"I need to go now, my mother..." she said in a tiny voice and fled.  
She still could feel the tingles on her hands as she mixed, it'd pulsed like a giddy heart. It scared her, made her thirst for more.  
She walked dazedly around the fields full of rows of fruit and vegetables, nicking some cranberries and grapes from the stalks, wiping her stained fingers on her dress-pants. By dusk she returned home, and even before she reached the door, Arien heard the row inside.  
The door banged open, Missy Ashford occupying the door, her beefy arms crossed.  
“Where have you been, young lady?” she boomed, gripping Arien's arms, inspecting her dirty fingers. “You've been cocky-pocking around, haven't you?“  
Arien protested, digging her feet, getting her shoulder wrenched in the process.  
Inside, Jivies Ashford's face was gray and sweaty as he mopped his damp curls. “Let's not be hasty,” he pleaded, trying to grab Arien's other arm without success.  
“None of that, she's getting the whipping she needs.” Mrs. Ashford glared. “She should've been here helping me with the food, she knows the rules.”  
Arien hated how they talked over her head, without addressing her, ignoring her presence. She was right there, why couldn't they talk to her instead of each other?  
Inside the closet, Mrs. Ashford grabbed the well-oiled leather belt. “Bend.”  
Arien nodded, inhaling shakily, and went to her knees. The first lash made her grit her teeth. The second, she chewed through her lip knowing holding her noises was the best choice. The third, she inhaled and panted, trying to stifle her shivers. The fourth, she cried and wailed. The fifth, Arien was so tired she barely felt it.  
“Now, go dress in clean clothes and set the table.“  
Arien nodded to nobody in particular and rose, stumbling to her room. She bathed and creamed the red marks on her back, touching them gingerly. She winced, jumping away and scurried for a fresh dress.  
She was well-behaved and silent through the dinner, watching her father hide a green leather-bound book in his lap and try to read it without her mother noticing. He got socked in his ears for it. She slept fitfully, her back throbbing like the bowl, staring at the night sky covered in sweat each time she awoke.  
By morning, Arien felt exhausted and scratchy.  
She kneaded loafs, preparing the strong coffee that her mother loved. Another pot boiled tea leaves for her father. She fetched rose hip jam from the pantry, buttering the golden loaves and setting them on the table. She put some parsley in the jar's table, hoping they liked the nice smell.  
The sun came up, they descended from their rooms in their nightly clothes. Her father grunted in approval at the sweet tea and jam, while her mother pecked at the loafs and drank excessive amounts of bitter coffee. She smiled sweetly, waiting for a “Thank you, darling!” that never came. Arien gulped down warm milk with the lump in her throat, trying to wash it down, but it stayed even after the milk went down.  
She sighed, rising from the table and washing the cups and pots from breakfast and from dinner. Full of grease and hot from the boiling water, her hands red and waffled, her mother kept telling her what to do next.  
“Don't forget to sweep and wash the floors,” Mrs. Ashford said, in her best dress, searching for her bag. “If later you're not here, yesterday will have felt like a butterfly's touch. Later.”  
Her mother left to go shopping and get into a row, even if that wasn't her purpose she always ended socking somebody.  
Arien sighed.  
Her father was in the living room's sofa, his feet perched on the little table, with his nose stuck inside a book.  
Arien grumbled, getting on sore knees and doing exactly what Missy Ashford had demanded.  
Before midday came, Arien prepared the meat and the potatoes, using the discarded parsley. She'd just put the huge pot with water and parsley and potatoes on the stove, when Mrs. Williams entered.  
“Ah, darling Jecie!” she said, kissing her on her sweaty cheek, rubbing the lipstick mark. “Do you think I can take some of that delightful rose-hip jam you did? Your mother said she wanted to sell it, what nonsense!”  
“Well...I—I,” Arien stuttered, blushing and looking at her scuffled shoes. “I can't without her approval.”  
“What's that, darling? You'll let me? Thanks so much!” Mrs. Williams kissed her again and entered the pantry, removing two bottles of it.  
Arien wrung her hands in the rag at her waist, trying to muster up courage to speak. She tried to block and not let Mrs. Williams leave, but Mrs. Williams was very insisting and left. Arien returned to the food, rubbing her eyes with her palms, knowing she was going to get a sock to her ears.  
When Mrs. Ashford arrived, hands empty of food and clothes, she sniffed the food, nodding and left to her room. She returned with her grubby clothes, entering the pantry for the sauce, which Arien had forgot to take.  
Arien gulped, her mother's heavy breathing behind her.  
“Who did you let take that damn jam?”  
“I...Mrs. Williams, she didn't hear what I told her, mum! I swear!” Arien pleaded, wringing the rag into knots.  
Missy Ashford beefy arms turned her around, wagging a finger at her face. “Don't let it happen again. You aren't getting it 'cause I'm in a good mood.”  
Mrs. Ashford grumbled something her breath and stormed off. Screams came from the house next door. Mr. Ashford came out of his room, straightening his glasses. He shrugged and both came outside just in time to see Mrs. Ashford sock Mrs. Williams in the jaw, grabbing her slim waist and crumple her to the floor.  
“Don't you go nicking what is in my house!” Mrs. Ashford thundered. “I'd already told you I was selling it, give me the money and you better do it now!”  
Mrs. Williams, trembling and livid, ran inside bringing her pouch, which Mrs. Ashford ripped from her hands and took ten notes.  
Arien trembled, flushing with embarrassment, everyone looking at the row and whispering. She stormed inside the house, in time to finish the food and put it on the fine china plates. Mrs. Ashford entered soon after, dragging Jivies Ashford by the scruff of his neck.  
Missy Ashford raged throughout the lunch, demanding a frosty cake which Arien baked and whipped out under pressure and came out a bit too sweet. Her ears were still red and ringing.  
Arien left to go to Lettie's Shop after cleaning the lunches dinnerware, sighing and choosing a muddy path that few people used. She knew if they saw her, they'd stage-whisper and make fun of her and her mother. At least like this she was at peace.  
Lettie's Shop was mildly crowded, Rojan playing with the jars of medicine with a put-on expression while Aunt Mildred yapped his ear off. Old Killam grumbled about his pains and bad eyes which couldn't read the gigantic labels on the jars. Arien ducked inside, Rojan grabbing the flap of her cloak and pulling her back. The stench of black walnut hit her pleading face.  
Lettie came from the inside, carrying filled jars. “Will you restock them? I need to go back inside. Daisy keeps dilly-dallying with Hara and Nanny!” She huffed, snapping shut the door.  
Rojan gave Arien the jars and told her to be useful. She grinned, dimpling, and did so with love and care. She tried to steel herself to beg Lettie, and Rojan and Daisy, to let her work here but each time she tried to speak, Aunt Mildred or Old Killam would mutter and demand Rojan's attention. Not that he was listening by his faraway expression, but even though she waited until the shop closed, she still said nothing and left.  
She went to go visit Maisie, but Maisie sneered at her. “Oh, look who's come! Go away, I don't want to see you or your mother's face again!”  
Arien choked on prickly tears when Maisie slammed her door. Mrs. Williams sat by the window, her lips pursed and swollen.  
Mrs. Ashford was whistling and singing, her big hands clattering the pots good-naturedly, while Mr. Ashford pecked and stole food from the pot. His hand had marks from the wooden spoon, Arien would recognize them anywhere.  
“Darling, you're back! Good, come help me with the table,” Missy Ashford said, whipping cream.  
Jivies Ashford scurried away to his sofa, peeking from time to time from his book. Arien's mother was indeed too happy. She hoped nothing bad was about to happen.  
After dinner, Arien got called to the living room. Her mother click-clacked as she weaved, ushering her to sit.  
“Nanny Gram told our neighbor she saw you eating like a starving pig the grapes for the wine of our incoming ceremony.” Click-Clack. “Is this true?”  
Arien coughed. “No, I nicked one or two grapes but no more. By my honor.” Or more like twenty, but if her mother was asking she hadn't believed.  
Mrs. Ashford grunted, stopping to pull the weave tighter. “I don't want any rumors of you being starved like a whipped dog, you understand?” Arien nodded eagerly, her eyes huge. “Good, tomorrow you'll go to live with the potions master. I talked with him and he agreed.”  
Arien could hear the truth behind it: she'd badgered the old man until he complied with her wishes.  
“But, mam...” Arien started, gripping thighs. “I really, really wanted Lettie's Shop. She needs help too! The potions master doesn't, he's new in town and never needed.”  
“Enough. You'll do as I say, I am your mother.” Mrs. Ashford lowered her weave, glaring.  
Arien nodded, pleading with her father. He cleared his throat and grabbed one of his expensive smokes.  
“I'll be right back, lovies.”  
She joined her father outside, sitting in the chilly path while sniffling. “You could've tried, daddy. You really could.”  
Jivies Ashford croaked a laugh, rubbing his neck. “I did. She socked me and dangled me from the attic yesterday. I'd barely returned to firm land when you returned and took the brunt of her ire.” He sighed, stamping the cigarette. “Sorry, love. I'm sure everything will be fine.”  
Arien hugged herself, nodding glumly. If only her father was stronger and not so meek against her mother. She sighed, staring at the Winter sky. Ah, if only.  
She packed her clothes and her rag doll, her father had sewn it when she was younger and wailing for a porcelain doll. The only shoes she had, she was wearing, so she took them out and polished them. Arien couldn't do much about the scuffs and tears in them but at least they turned glossy by using pig's fat. The shine would disappear, but she'd look proper for her neighbors inspection.  
Her mother led her to the entrance of the path as soon as the sun had risen. They had not exchanged words, nor hugs or kisses. Mr. Ashford had rubbed her hair, patting her lightly in the shoulder as farewell. Mrs. Ashford turned away, leaving Arien looking at her huge back.  
She tripped on her too-big-for-her suitcase, arriving at the potions master house with her pristine clothes full of dirt, her face scratchy and tear-stained, her lips quivering.  
He motioned her for a stool, bringing cups and milk-tea in a pot, a clean rag at his shoulder. The potions master cleaned her shoes, removing the dirt from the sole too, handing it to her to clean her clothes while she drank. Arien felt better after drinking and wiping her best dress. She mumbled a shy thank-you, unable to meet his eyes. She'd see judgment, all the others had.  
He sighed, sipping. “You've two options, cub. Sleep in the floor or sleep outside. Choose whichever makes you feel better. You're my helper, not my slave. Remember that, young cub.”  
Arien set her too-large suitcase inside an empty cupboard and started her cleaning of the place. She had to dodge, duck and swerve around the potions master; airing the furniture, putting a heavy shine with some translucent liquid that smelled like poultry; Arien conked the potions master twice while cleaning the dust-webs – she expected him to slap her ears until her whole rang, her mother had, but he grumbled some inarticulate words and turned back to his crock.  
After that, Arien felt strange. Like she needed to be punished but hadn't. It made her feel bad.  
It was thinking of that while cleaning the dirty crocks that she said, “What's going to be my punishment? I know it's after I finish, but still...”  
The potions master threw the crock down, splashing green everywhere. “I am not punishing you! Go outside, gather something. Away with you! Clean thins...meddle in that...Cocky-pot, you're as nagging as your mother!”  
Arien reeled, her lips trembling in hurt. “I...'m sorry...”  
“Shoo, shoo!” he demanded, waving her away with his hands full of dark herbs. “Go to town, go to the pigs, for all I care. Return at lunch and don't bother before it.”  
Arien trekked down the unbeaten paths of the empty forest, letting her cold hands drift through their rough bark, as she considered her new situation. He hadn't gotten angry, which was good, but he'd been annoyed by her. Surely she could do something to fix it. She'd be more attentive, make sure she wasn't getting in his way. She did want to be in Lettie's Shop. Rojan was cute and Lettie and Daisy so very cheerful; the people kind, even if suffering. But Arien wanted to make this work—if she returned to her mother's house, she'd get belted for embarrassing Mrs. Ashford in front of the neighborhood.  
Arien sighed and noticed herbs in the floor. They looked similar to those in the potions master cottage. She fetched them, putting them in her pocket. Perhaps he'd see them as an offering of good-will. She did her best to prance around, wasting time – though she did feel peaceful after a while. Arien had always been fearful of that forest, there was something cold and eerie about it.  
The well in the middle of the forest was like a gaping wound in the floor, surrounded by ruins of ancient bark. She peered down it, feeling vertigo take her at the impossible depths of it. Arien shivered, backing away from it. The darkness was liquid and engulfing, and she was sure, would bring her down if she kept looking. It was an encompassing eye, drawing her in, only to snare her and drain her.  
Arien shook herself, laughing softly and retreating. Spending too much time alone, without the chickens roaring and her father's screams, Mrs. Williams ever present grind-mill and Nanny Gram's ruckus pigs, she was starting to have a too much active imagination. If Mrs. Ashford had seen her like that, misty-eyed and spreading lies, she'd get a good whipping. The small children were very impressionable, she'd been herself back when Old Killam had told them of the well that sucked dry the old part of the village until it became one-and-the-same with the forest.  
It'd been from whence her fear, distrust and spookiness came from whenever she saw the dark forest. Old Killam was the best storyteller in town, even the grownups feared his stories. Arien had always been fond of the old man, he was solid like oak and also lonely. If he had ever had family, nobody knew, but he lived all by himself in his cottage, feeding bread to the chickens or to the pigs.  
By midday, Arien returned to the potions master cabin. She waved the herbs in her pocket, showing them with a big grin.  
“You've an eye,” he said, picking them and tying them together. “Thata be good.”  
Arien blushed happily and checked the steaming pot. There was no meat, though it was heavy in beans and cabbage. She turned back.  
“I thought...you...me to cook,” she mumbled.  
He waved her away, “Clear the table, the plates are in the low cupboards.”  
Arien nodded, politely removing the mess from the table, while the potions master stirred. She found the plates, made of wood with some intricate designs on the outside, and the silverware on a drawer that had stained tools from overuse.  
The potions master served her and himself, clapping his hands and digging in. Arien did the same, enjoying the spicy taste of it as she licked her plate clean. The potions master stared momentarily.  
“Where you thata hungry? You could've returned for an earlier snack.”  
Arien blushed, twirling her hair while mumbling, “...midday.”  
“I'mma afraid I dinna catch that,” he said, washing his plate.  
She cleared her throat, grabbing the sponge. “You said to not return before midday. I obeyed.”  
“I dinna mean for you to go hungry, young cub. Next time, you come when you're hungry.”  
Arien nodded eagerly, not wanting to displease the elder and by extension, her family. She sighed longingly for Maisie, even if she was snide from time-to-time. The next best thing she could do was play with her doll. With a filled stomach, warm and sated, life was better.  
The peace, the silence, was what stood out to her. It was deafening, she could hear her own heartbeat and the breeze, the house groaning with cold. It unsettled her. She longed for the crackling of the fireplace in her father's living-room, or her mother's noise as she made jams and baked to sell in the market stalls.  
When the potions master returned, after a nap outside that he came back cheerful, he immediately started ransacking the place for the right bicker, the right pan, the right bundle of herbs from the same five bundles. He was so spaced, throwing everything everywhere, that Arien fell to the floor in a fit of giggles right in the middle of the room.  
When she finally stopped, she covered her mouth, looking horrified at the potions master. She was gonna get whipped, or worse.  
He was laughing too, removing everything from the cupboards, littering the whole place as he stomped around.  
“I'm sorry!” she said squirming.  
“Whatta for? Come help me, we'll change this whole place.”  
He grabbed her by her arm quite gently, hoisted her up and together, they trounced the whole room.  
Panting and exhilarated, they laughed together and cleaned the pots, putting them in easy-to-access places, near each other. Stacking the ones used for medicine-making together instead of mixed with cooking appliances.  
Days passed. Arien learned to make pastes for sores and gaping wounds, it was a bit like cooking – the ingredients together with the others made everything work. She didn't go to visit her mother, nor did she visit Lettie's to peek at Rojan, but she walked a lot beside the potions master as he rattled the names of the herbs around them.  
He taught her to pick them, which parts were useful. It became confusing and she messed up a lot. At first, she'd recoiled knowing he'd punish her for her mistake, but when the only thing he did was repeat and wag his finger in the direction of the plant, Arien grew confident. She messed up a lot, knowing she wouldn't get whipped, and in exchange she learned quicker than she had ever before.  
The potions master barely used his stove for his concoctions, preferring cold concoctions. The place always smelled like the outside of the cottage, fresh and crisp and earthy, and Arien came to like it more than her house that smelled of oil and flour, more than Lettie's that always smelled acrid and woodsy, more than Maisie's custard and jam.  
He let her, or more like he pushed her, to do what she wanted and take long walks away from the place. Arien had never felt so loose and free, doing whatever she wanted, returning when she was tired or cranky or hungry. At first it was terrifying, Arien always waited for the shoe to drop, for things to turn sour and find out it wasn't truly like it was. She was a pickle of nerves and anxiety until she relaxed; she couldn't even remember what it'd been like before the potions master. That fear and sweat damping her curls as she waited, was long gone and she didn't want it to come back ever again.  
Of course that as she basked in the sunlight, the cold bread the potions master like to do in her hand covered in raw honey, her peace disappeared.  
Maisie appeared, all gap-toothed grin, showing off her plaid white-and-blue dress as she twirled.  
“I have something to tell you,” Maisie said, doing a little loop as her red curls bounced. “You cannot believe this, buuuuut… Your family disappeared.”  
Arien blinked, unsure what to make of it, so she said nothing.  
Maisie stopped twirling, her cheeks flushed as she giggled. “They've been gone for weeks, we all though your mamma had killed your daddy and run away. But… they found some of their clothes on the old part of town.”  
Arien shook her head, raising from the slightly-damp earth. “You're lying, Maisie. You're a big, fat liar!”  
Maisie pouted, sticking out her very pink lips. “I am not! I was going to share with you the potion I did to change appearances, but now I shan't, Jecie. I'm not going to help you, you're mean.”  
Arien grew near as Maisie huffed and socked her, pulling her hair. “You're lying! Don't lie to me, Maisie.”  
Maisie wailed, kicking like a newborn deer, slapping Arien wherever she could. “Ask my momma and all the others, then. It's true, I swear it so!”  
Maisie's eyes were big and wet, her face red and full of tears, and Arien felt a pang in her chest. She'd never wanted to be like her mother, terrifying Mrs. Williams, punching anyone that disagreed.  
Arien kissed the bruise on Maisie's cheek-bone. “I'm sorry, Maisie, I didn't mean to hit you. I swear.” Her own voice wobbled, as did her lips as she tried to stifle the sniffs. “Will you ever forgive me?”  
Maisie harrumphed, cleaning her pristine dress. “I don't see why not, but I am not sharing that potion.”  
Arien nodded, laughing at Maisie's defiant jut of her chin. “I don't want it, I like it here. I'll never want to go to Lettie's, or back home. This is my home now.”  
Maisie's sharp inhale was slightly wet. “So I'm not home anymore? Fine, Jecie. If you ever want to be friends, you come find me.”  
Maisie stomped away on her pretty shoes, splattering herself with mud.  
If this was true, if her parents had disappeared...she had to do something.  
Arien run inside the cottage, wildly gesticulating, her voice raising in a high-pitch shriek as she retold everything as quick and rabble as she could.  
“Okay, okay, okay,” he said exasperated. “Calm the horses, I'lla go see the well, you stay here.”  
Arien nodded glumly, watching him leave.  
She ran to her old home, knocking on the door. The neighbors gawked at her, having been drawn by the chickens causing an uproar. Arien slammed inside, sniffing the flour and greasy oil dried in the pan.  
“Mom? Dad?!” she called, running upstairs.  
The Ashford's bedroom was large, the sunlight lighting the king-sized bed and the mahogany furniture. The bed's sheets were rumpled, the wardrobe semi-open with a pants-leg dangling outside; their underwear scattered on the floor. She barged down, checking the atrium for any clues but there were none.  
Arien returned home. When the sun descended and still the potions master hadn't returned, she put the kettle on the stove and started grinding spices for food and for a good-luck charm. Arien peeled the sweet potatoes, throwing beside them cloves and garlic with some rye. On the table, she started stripping the rough bark from the log.  
Time went by as she finished cutting the log, putting the nice-smelling mixture inside a little token. She fastened and set the table, lighting the lanterns inside. Arien fetched a candle, lighting it and putting it on the window, fearful that the potions master had lost his way and couldn't find his way home.  
While she waited Arien fell into a light nap, when the wind outside slammed against the windows, she jerked awake. She went outdoors, checking the darkness and covering up the windows. Arien was only outside a few minutes, but she reached inside tittering, her teeth chattering from cold. She huddled near the fire, laying on the floor while cocooning herself in the sheets.  
When next she awoke, it was already day, the weak early sunlight rousing her from disturbed dreams. She checked the potions master, but it was immaculate: he hadn't come back. Arien cried, ransacking his things as she searched for anything that might help bridge a connection to him. She found one of his old copper coins, with a little hole in the middle, and tucked it in her pocket while she hiccuped.  
Arien ate the cold dinner reluctantly, she hadn't touched it the night before and it felt different from the other meals in the cottage. Quite dispiritedly, she grabbed the lucky charm she'd done and went outside. She wouldn't believe he'd abandoned her, they'd been becoming friends; she already thought of him as the grandpa she'd never had.  
As she approached the old ruins, Arien felt the coldness of the place and shivered. If only Old Killam hadn't filled her head with ideas. She sighed and reached the well, gulping breath and looking down without breathing. Inside the deep, dark well she felt a tug. An eye opened inside, instead of white its cornea was sickly yellow. It blinked and Arien fell down the hole, screaming and kicking at the walls, her hands rubbing raw till they bled.  
+++  
Arien groaned, her whole body thrumming from her multiple wounds. Her knees were bloody, her clothes ragged, her face throbbed; she was miserable but didn't cry. She rose, stumbling on the spring-grass around her. It smelled of mildew and was a healthy, glow-y grass. Wherever she'd fallen, it wasn't midwinter.  
As she walked, Arien noticed the light blood trail she left behind. It would lead anyone who saw it to her; weak and hurting and bloody. She walked faster, hoping to put distance between herself and any pursuers that-might-be.  
After trotting for so long, Arien longed for the sun to go away and let her enjoy the warmth and the shade without boiling her to lobster. She already felt faint, and very hungry and thirsty; she didn't need the sun's glare on her eyes, making her face throb. With was a shriek of delight that she stumbled upon a little stream of water and fell upon it, lapping greedily and using it to wash her hands and face.  
Incredibly, she dozed off under the shade of a massive oak.  
When hooves clambered on the ground, she awoke looking around glaringly. When she looked up, she croaked a gasp.  
In front of Arien was the most beautiful, magical unicorn. Its long mane carried the stars in it, glittering as it swayed in the breeze; its horn gleamed gold in the light; its milk-blue doe eyes framed by long white lashes. Arien fell in love right there.  
She approached it cautiously, not wanting the beautiful thing to disappear. When her hand touched the unicorn's mane, she shivered in delight. It was silky and fresh, it smelled like cloves and earth and all she wanted to do was rub her face in it.  
The unicorn neighed, throwing its mane back fabulously, nuzzling her face while his horn poked her in the ear. She petted everywhere, giggling at its moist breaths in her neck. When he sniffed her pocket, he reared back, stamping on the floor, snorting through huge nostrils. Arien took from her pocket the coin and the lucky-charm and the unicorn shrieked, its milk-eyes turning to yellow and disappearing.  
Arien trembled and tumbled to the floor, breathing hard and scared.  
“Ya alright? That unicorn could've killed ya, or worse. I coulda see he gunning for it.”  
Huge. That was the first thought. The man was huge, large and wide as a boulder. He carried a branded axe, his beard tangled with bones, his hair cropped short. Arien wouldn't have admitted she was afraid of the monstrous man, but then she wouldn't have admitted she was afraid of being whipped for the same exact reason: if she showed weakness they'd know it and take advantage of it.  
So she breathed in, rose and shook his beefy hand while smiling.  
“I don't know what happened,” she admitted, remembering how amazing the unicorn's mane had felt. How horrible he'd looked afterward.  
“They're evil creatures. Ah seen them dazzle and kill plenty a man, child.” His deep voice rumbled, shaking the very ground. He inspected the little charm and then dumped it on the stream.  
“Hey!” Arien protested, gripping a third of his wrist with both her hands.  
“Ya cannae use it more, it's used.” He gripped her hand and pulled, sending her flying in an arch. “Ah take ya home, feed ya some and ya tell me what ya doing here. No place for kids.”  
Arien snorted, her head pillowed by his bicep.  
His house was taken out from a fairytale; all beautiful woods, huge roses and squirrels and birds making noise. She laughed, thinking of him as a magical princess that spoke to animals and danced with them. Arien wasn't sure what the food was, but she inhaled it, stuffing her cheeks like a squirrel as she told at quick pace what had happened and how she'd reached there.  
The giant scratched his massive round head but otherwise said nothing. He nodded and grunted, eating all prim and delicate while Arien felt like a pig in the cave. The giant rubbed the coin between his thumbs, staring blandly at it.  
“Ah na cannae understand what ya mean, but ah help ya reach them,” he said, braiding his beard into a knot and tucking the bones from the broth in it. “Ah na cannae see how ya planning to help, ya na cannae do much.”  
Arien snorted. “I'm a kid who's been apprenticing with the potions master in all kinds of sorcery. I'll be fine, trust me.”  
The giant belched, rattling the windows, and covered his mouth as his face reddened. “A'mma sorry. If ya say so, a'lla go.”  
Nodding, Arien rose and set about busily tucking food inside an empty bag, and fetching clean clothes for the giant and some old ones she could wear.  
The giant blushed. “That be from when I was a young.”  
Arien ignored him, throwing him three bundles: two with food and one with clothes. He caught them in a beefy hug, juggling them sheepishly as if they weighed nothing. She continued ignoring him as she shooed him away, closing the door with feeling and striding away.  
The giant lead, humming under his breath a broken, pitch-y lullaby that otherwise Arien would think was a curse if she hadn't understood some of the words. They passed by ethereal woods, that glowed a vivacious green; the bushes surrounding them full of lush berries that, even though she'd just eaten, made Arien's mouth water and her belly rumble.  
“Ya cannae eat them, poisonous the lot of them,” the giant said, grabbing Arien's shoulder and steering her away. “Ah knows, ate one. Got very sick.”  
Arien grumbled unhappily, but obeyed because he'd been here longer than she'd existed. So she ignored the berries, the strawberries, the inviting peach tree that wafted soft and ripe and sweet, she bypassed the little golden lights from the woods, didn't follow cute rabbits nor deers, ignored the neighs from a pegasus that was creamy white and simply glowed.  
By the time they reached the other side of the woods, Arien felt wrecked. She'd never done such a big effort, not even when Mrs. Ashford had slapped her hands with a wooden spoon for trying to munch on a cookie. She wanted to rest, to sate hunger and thirst unlike she'd ever experienced – and a big part of her just wanted to barge in the woods and slobber all the food.  
The giant picked her up, threw her on his bicep, and strolled away.  
“Weak will, ya cannae survive like that,” the giant muttered, compared to the rumblings he'd done before and yet it still rocked through Arien's body like somebody had slapped her.  
“But I'm hungry!” Arien wailed, wanting to do a tantrum because she could. “And thirsty, and exhausted. Oh please, mister giant, can't you make an allowance for me?”  
He grunted, huge legs eating the soft brown ground beneath them, the fields disappearing quicker still. Beneath hooded eyes, Arien watched the countryside go and come. Little red cottages with yellow tiles appearing, nice-looking folks waving with fresh loafs in their arms, kind smiles with jugs of pristine water. Arien wanted to kick and scream, trash against the giant until he'd let her go. She was sure they'd take care of her; they'd be nice and sweet and they'd never make her cry. She didn't. The giant's bicep was tough like rocks, and she could only imagine the strength in his sausage fingers.  
She whimpered, sniffing and cleaning snot and tears wherever she touched.  
The giant sighed. “Ya see what ya most want, don't let them fool you.”  
Arien cried harder until she could barely breathe for the wracking sobs that stole from her chest and demanded to be heard.  
The giant's pats on her back jostled her enough to be able to inhale, fresh groans filling the air.  
“B—b—but...” Arien said between sobs. “T—t—they're...ni—c—ce.”  
Shaking his head, the giant almost threw Arien through the floor. “They'll a kill ya, not nice at all.”  
Arien's red-rimmed eyes opened very wide, and nodded glumly. “I—I think I'll close my eyes, i—it'll be easier like that.”  
The giant agreed, crooning sweet but broken, making the sweet-sounding birds fly away.  
+++  
“We arrived,” the giant rumbled, dropping her to the ground with the sacks.  
It couldn't be called a forest or a meadow or a grove. Just plain, boring grass that tickled their ankles, leaving green smears, and wide expanses of nothing.  
Arien frowned. “We've arrived nowhere.”  
The giant's eyes turned beady, his grin crooked. “Open ya eyes and you'll a see.”  
Glaring, Arien looked everywhere until the salty sweat at her forehead stung her eyes and like a mirage, she saw in the open field rise Gothic towers that were doubled over, full of cracks and gouges; felled moors, its walls crumbled; the windows were caved in, shards littering the sunken grass that surrounded it.  
Arien stumbled closer to it, her breath knocked away.  
If she looked really, really close she could see where the building stopped being and been left behind—in her world. The dark-blue granite-like material had been weathered, stained and changed by the place around it, but she could see the well with its crumbled buildings finishing the look of it.  
“Are my family here?” Arien asked quietly, afraid her voice would carry through the empty expanse.  
The giant shrugged mightily. “Ah cannae say so, ah have poor sight.”  
Arien blinked, turning to fix on his leaf-green eyes. She shrugged, and walked on, liking the cracky sound of the grass being trampled beneath her boots. Arien barged in, making sure the metal door slammed against the walls and its noise rung throughout the place.  
Nobody came to see who was there. Arien stormed in, climbing over chairs and tables until she reached the stairs, then she climbed those. Up, up and up they went, reaching a wide arch. From there, Arien could see the whole plane. It was empty, the forest so very far away that she couldn't believe they'd walked in such short time.  
The giant's big sausage-fingers grabbed her shoulder. Arien felt his labored breathing through the soles of her boots.  
“A'mma 'fraid ya cannae go further, child,” the giant said.  
Arien turned and screamed.  
The giant's face had turned green, his brown hair has turned purple and sickly, and his leaf eyes had become the color of maggots. Arien cried louder, scrambling away from him.  
“W—what are you?!” she demanded between sobs.  
“Ah am what ah am. Now close ya eyes, this shan't hurt at all.”  
He neared her in one stride, grabbed and threw her.  
Arien shrieked high and mighty as she fell from the top of the tower and the world around her blurred and lost its color, disappearing and blending together until there was nothing left.  
+++  
Arien woke because of a moist neigh at her cheek. She screamed, throat raw and giving, when she saw the unicorn. The unicorn breathed at her cheek again, nudging her and licking the salt from her cheeks. Arien trembled, batting him away.  
“What do you want? Are you here to kill me too? Join the list, dammit!” Arien stamped her foot, hands on her hips as she tried to be mightier than she was.  
The unicorn snorted, blowing gusts of silver-spun mane. “Hardly trying to kill you. I woke you, did I not?”  
Arien staggered forward, stunned by the rich, mellow voice of the unicorn.  
“You can talk!” she shrieked happily, hugging him before remembering what the giant had said. “I'm confused, he said you were evil.”  
The unicorn's milk-blue doe eyes fixed on hers. He snickered. “Guess who tried to kill you and who hasn't?”  
“But...but he's an adult!” she protested and went silent as her voice echoed on the meadow. It was deserted, the flowers at her feet withered to brown slivers. The forest didn't seem very alive.  
The unicorn snorted. “Are all your human adults always right? Do you agree with everything they do and say?”  
“Well...” Arien said, thinking of her parents and the neighbors. “No. I don't.”  
He shook his glorious mane, trotting softly around her. “Then, why would the giant be correct and I not? Am I not trustworthy?”  
Arien stammered, stomped on the floor and glared. “No, you aren't! My lucky charm showed me how you really are. You're ugly!”  
The unicorn trotted until his nuzzle was at her cheek. “How rude, I am quite vain and you're hurting my feelings. I am touched by the forest's dark input, yes, which is why I change shape to that...other ugly.”  
Arien huffed, stroking his mane and ears, rubbing below his chin. If he'd been a cat, the unicorn would've purred; since he was not, he trembled softly, nearing her fingers to rub against them.  
“So you won't try to fling me from tall buildings and try to kill me? Swear?” Arien demanded.  
“I swear,” the unicorn replied with a little gust of contentment as she scratched harder.  
“Okay, then. I'm hungry and thirsty, what'll you give me? I want food.” Arien tapped her boot-clad feet, waiting for him to magically make them appear. When he did not, Arien crossed her arms, waggling a finger. “You should treat me better or I won't pet you ever again.”  
The unicorn did a little horsey laugh and gave her his flank, whipping her legs with his soft tail. “Hop on, I'll carry you to my mistress. You'll like her, she has cookies and gingerbread people covered in frosting. You'll love it.”  
Arien's stomach gurgled in want. She sighed happily and climbed, stroking his warm flank, smelling his river scent. His mane smelled of sunlight, and made her mouth water. Arien had to fight the impulse on nibbling on him, she was sure he wouldn't feel very happy about getting slobber all over him. He was vain, even the way he trotted like a gazelle, all long-legs and prettiness, showed it.  
All of the forest was slightly dead, or more accurately, withered. Something had drained it of life and beauty, leaving an empty husk behind. It was a pity, from what she could see, the place would've been gorgeous. She was sure it was an enchanted forest, it was the smell in the air. Far too sweet for a real forest, the taste burrowed underneath her tongue and her nose.  
Arien felt a pang of longing. She missed the smell of pine and ferns from the potions master's surrounding forest. Missed walking around, dropping on her knees and digging some plants, bringing them back to the potions master to get a bright smile and a pat in the head that made her feel warm. She'd glow with happiness the whole day when she got praised, wanting to make him even more proud.  
She was sure the potions master liked her, even if he didn't say the words, he'd go out of his way to preheat the stove and the room if the days were cold so that she could sleep warm during the night. He'd use an excuse like “Your teeth chatter so much, you don't let me sleep.” but she knew it wasn't so. The old man slept like an ox, nothing roused him. There could be a fire, a drought or an earthquake, and he wouldn't even stir from his sleep.  
Arien had accidentally dropped the whole pantry, she'd been clinging on it and climbing to fetch the rice, and he hadn't even moved. When she'd entered the room to accept his scolding, he snored as loud as ever. She took her chance and cleaned it up, he never noticed it.  
Her eyes prickled as she thought of her quasi-grandpa. If he was dead, it'd be all her fault. She breathed deeply and locked eyes on the cottage. Arien was going to rescue him and her parents, whoever needed her to. She owned the fault for their predicament.  
Arien unmounted the unicorn as the dark wood door swung open. There stood a spindly old grandma, wringing her thin hands on a white-splattered rag. She smiled, showing rows of empty gaps on her yellow teeth, and ushered her in with a firm hand on her neck. Arien nibbled on a gingerbread cookie, drinking the egg nut with gusto, while she explained yet again why she was there and how she'd reach.  
She told about the giant, getting choked up about it because she'd gotten fond of him, and received murmured soft words and pats on her cheeks.  
“Ah knows who ya talking about,” the grandma said, her lips puckered tightly as she gave Arien a plate of jam-covered sandwiches that she ate and licked her fingers. “He was ah ma boy, once in many moons from then...Ah'mma sorry he did that ta ya.”  
Arien nodded, gulping cherry juice that stained her chin and lips like the crimson lipstick her mother was fond of. She opened her mouth to thank her when the grandma grabbed her, comparatively, chubby hand in her gaunt ones.  
“Ah knows it ain't fair for ya, but if ya make something for me ah promise to help ya get back your village.” The grandma cackled when Arien repeat “village” confusedly. “Ya na know? We absorbed the lot of ya, so ya villagers be here somewhere. Ah'mma sure there's nothing happened to them.”  
Arien sputtered, jumping from her chair. “Madam, you can't say that! The forest is bewitching and full of deadly things, they probably got lured and are dying somewhere from hunger and thirst...”  
“Na need for tears,” the grandma said slapping her back. “Better hungry and thirsty than they havin' eaten. If they has? They cannae leave this place ever.”  
Arien yawned loudly, her body hurting and her feet very sore from the taxing walk. The grandma took her to a side-room that was warm, though it smelled smoky, and Arien went out like a candle in the wind.  
+++  
The grandma showed her a very vivacious green orb that was sticky like honey, and told her to drop it in the well. Arien complained there was no well anymore, but the grandma made her promise she would do. It wasn't a promise of words, the grandma made three little crosses over heart and told her that “If ya has the chance to do it and ya don't, a little cross will disappear. The last cross is gone and ya die, sorry lass.”  
Arien had nodded in defeat and accepted it, it was the price for saving her village and the people she liked. She prayed each day to the woods to protect Maisie and the potions master, and that they wouldn't lead astray her parents because she liked them even with their idiosyncrasies.  
She rode the unicorn through valleys of flowers in bloom that glowed even where shadow fell; the trees shade moved without wind and their discarded fruits and leaves littered the pathways, making a makeshift ground-walk; the sky stayed the same rich-blue, no clouds to be seen, the sun in the same position that made her neck tingle and her hands redden. Suddenly, after a long while of that vision, the sky became royal-blue, the moon hanging low and glowing white and gray on the paths; the trees rustled with non-existent wind, their limbs cackling at her, moving closer to her.  
The branches caught her hair, her blouse and skirt, trying to drag her out of the unicorn. The unicorn glowed like the stars that did not litter the royal sky, hurting the trees and making them back-off. They surrounded them, shrieking when the unicorn charged swift as a gazelle through them and even still, they did not stop pursuing them.  
The unicorn sighed loudly, after running and jumping high as birds. “They keep on coming, can't you do anything? I'm quite winded, you see, darling.”  
Arien sighed, searching through her pockets. She still had a few cookies, a jar with water, the coin with a hole in it, and...that was it. She sighed too, peering the trees through the coin's hole because they frightened her. To her astonishment, she could see something at the corner of her eye through the coin. She dumped the coin on her pocket and looked around, not being able to see anything. Arien frowned, the unicorn picked speed and they dashed away. Her breast hurt and when she looked down, two little marks over her breast stood, dribbling two lines of blood and staining her blouse.  
She cried, rubbing at the spot that stung.  
Arien nibbled on a cookie, sipping from the jar slowly. If they weren't careful, they'd starve and dehydrate. There was no fruit around them, no trickle of sweet water to lave the tongue on.  
+++  
Hours went by, them surrounded by nothing but darkness, thankfully the trees having left behind. Those hours felt like days and months, both growing tired, needing sleep and warm food.  
“I need to eat and drink, too, you know?” the unicorn said with the voice of someone painstakingly explaining something basic. “I am not at all immortal, just very fabulous and beautiful, yes. Sadly, I am beat and need recharging like all living things.”  
Arien nodded, patting his flank, and they stopped in the middle of the darkness. She couldn't fall asleep, there were so many little voice-like whisperings that she slept fitfully, in five and ten minutes each. When they rose, they felt more tired than they had before. Hungrier too. Arien was starting to think that unicorn meat might taste warm and sweet, just like a deer.  
She had a feeling the unicorn was thinking that exact same thing, but about her tasting nice. They both grumbled, returning to the path.  
The beaten path slowly turned to cobblestone under the unicorn's hooves, the woods and bushes giving way for brick houses that were covered in green smears that Arien could not identify. From the cobblestone path, Arien could look into the windows that had no glass coverings and see the residents. Their pallor was green and sickly, and the way they looked hungrily at them really frightened her.  
“I think you should go faster,” Arien commented, eying the villagers come outside their houses. “Really, really should go faster!”  
The unicorn huffed, tail swishing. “I can't,” he wailed, clip-clopping on the ground to dodge the people. “I'm too tired, hungry and thirsty. And there's something stopping me from going onwards.”  
Arien inhaled sharply, grabbed the cookies from her pocket and threw them behind them. The villagers turned into a river of legs and arms as they flailed and jumped to the ground to catch the gingerbread cookies. Arien consoled herself by remembering that they were old and dry already. Her stomach did not agree.  
“Go quick, fast, please,” she pleaded. There weren't enough to make them all forget them. In fact, some were already rising with their hands extended. “If we don't move now, we'll going to get eaten alive!”  
The unicorn neighed, bucked high (which made Arien squeal and attract the attention of the whole village) and walked in circles, run and run, until he was able to gallop away from the village.  
Arien sagged against his nice-smelling body, hanging for dear life. A few minutes later, he slowed down to little taps and bucked to the ground. Arien offered him the jar of water, but he declined.  
“I'm not going forward, not even with water. Save it for yourself, I'll stay here.”  
She cried while hugging him, pleading him to come with her—that surely they would find food soon enough. The unicorn shook his starlight-filled mane and snorted twice.  
“This place is messing with us, trying to kill us. As I see it, it'll play with us.” His blue-milk eyes fixed on hers. “Don't eat or drink, you'll get stuck.”  
Arien nodded, promising it on the little gashes on her chest. She trotted away, looking over her shoulder as she went. Sure that, if she lost contact with him, she'd never see him again. She did it until her neck cramped, protested and signaled in pain, but she only stopped looking when she could no longer discern his white shape from the green and black around them.  
She sighed.  
+++  
When the cobblestone turned into dirt again, the night fell away. The light so bright and sudden, her eyes watered and she hid them with her hands. Arien gasped, removing her hands to see where she was. Food. Berries and strawberries, all berries of color and style, their ripe smell wafting to her nose. Her stomach grumbled in want, and she patted it. She couldn't eat them. She had to be strong.  
Arien stared at the ground and forged forward, ignoring the smell of peaches, of apples, of ripe clementines in the floor. She heard water trickle by and her mouth kicked her in the head, reminding her she was thirsty and her mouth felt like sandpaper. Arien clenched her hands in her blouse, steadily walked on and refused to lift her head.  
When, finally, there was no more smell of food, she looked up. There, right in front of her watering eyes, were her parents. She squealed, crying and slobbering and run to them, not caring that they were off the path.  
Before she could reach them, smell the oil and flour of her mother, the tobacco and dust of her father, the ground gave way. Arien was moved back, away. She screamed “No!” and fell to the ground, clinging to it, trying to reach them but it didn't let her.  
Arien closed her eyes, weeping in silence until the ground stopped shaking. Her chest throbbed, and when she peeked, another two gashes were at her breast. They too itched and further dirtied her blouse. Arien felt miserable. Felt in despair.  
She rose from the floor, peering blearily at the ruins. She recognized them. Arien was at the entrance of her woods. Of her village. Of her town. She visited the houses, but all of them were empty, food half-eaten. Arien wasn't proud about it, but she dove on it and slobbered it all up until her tummy ached, making her want to cry or kick.  
Arien did none. She rose from the floor, quenched her thirst, and returned to the ruins start. Something glinted in the sun's weak midwinter light, and she approached. It was an empty boot. When she reached nearer, Arien saw it was connect to a leg that was itself connected to Old Killam.  
She screamed, flew to the floor and rose the old man by slapping him in his cheeks until he groaned. Her hand stung, turning an angry red. He sat up woozily, throwing his hands to the ground and to her shoulder. Arien helped him get up, feeling the strain of her muscles and back. They protested very loud that they hadn't been given the rest and care they deserved.  
Arien yawned, rubbing at her eyes and steadying Old Killam.  
“What happened?”  
Old Killam snorted, opening his arms in an arc. “The villagers got called to—to this evil, that's what! My poor legs couldn't carry me, I'm a sick person, you all know that.”  
Arien very much doubted it. She'd never seen a more energetic person that kept saying he wasn't. That and she could now tell from his shirt, in the back where there were footprints, that he'd been trampled. He'd probably been one of the firsts to reach it.  
“Are none left?” he inquired, straightening his clothes. Arien shook her head. “I warned you all, nobody listens to Old Killam's stories, that's what.”  
She smiled, nodding in agreement and patting his back. “I'm sure that's so, but we need to rescue them.”  
“Nonsense! I am not going to risk my very poor, sickly hide for this.” Old Killam crossed his arms, pouting. “Absolutely not.”  
Arien was going to follow Old Killam, but her chest itched and her pocket was heavy with the green orb. She peered at it, stroking it and looking at the ruins. She had promised. Arien had a feeling this might be the last time she'd get access to the well.  
When she reached the middle of the ruins, Arien stared in confusion. Where was the well? There was nothing there. Not one single brick. She was sure she'd seen it wrong and went behind each crumbled wall, and walked further into the woods. When she stopped fatigued, looked back to return home, there was no path.  
Arien's eyes prickled, turning raw and moist. Her inhales were wet, but she straightened her spine and followed the path.  
+++  
For a very long time, there was only the empty path flanked by rows of empty dirt. Not a single bush, tree or greenery; nor did an animal or house appear. Arien's stomach rumbled, her lips chaffed and her tongue dry; her legs protested, her feet felt swollen and sore in spots; her arms limp and useless at her sides; her armpits felt rubbed raw from the coarse blouse.  
She reached an empty field, low grass that crunched softly beneath her tired shoes, and walked around it. There was no other path, and she was far too scared to go through the low-hanging bushes. The place was peaceful, even without little birds twittering or flowers to perfume the air, and she was just so tired.  
Arien plopped down, stretched her body, removed her feet and winced at the burst blisters. She rubbed some grass on them, that stung and smeared green on them, but made her feet feel less achy.  
With the sunlight streaming down gently over her face, Arien got lulled to sleep. Restful sleep that didn't make her twist and turn, nor did she feel more tired when she awoke. Though her face did throb a bit, she suspected from laying on the sun.  
She took out the green orb, laying it on her stomach, and inspected it under the sun's light. It was quite shimmery, though not heavy it felt solid, and even when she tapped on it, the sound was full and heavy.  
Arien shrugged and took the coin out, rubbing it beneath her fingers. She put it to her eye, and peered at the orb through its hole. Arien gasped because, through the coin, she could see the well just in front of her. She rose slowly, gripping the orb strongly and tiptoed to the well. When she looked above the coin, nothing; when she again peered through the hole, there it was. She rubbed the four gashes at her breast with the hand with the green orb, and moved closer. Arien peered down, when the eye looked at her, she got so surprised she released the green orb.  
Kaboom.  
A dreadful smell and noise came from the well, everything shimmered and shifted around her. Arien tucked the coin in her pocket and fell to the ground, gripping the grass because the place twisted this way and that, almost knocking her out.  
When the world stopped shuddering, finally one place and one color with a moaning sigh, Arien rose and looked down at the hole on the ground. There was no hole. It was filled with grass-packed dirt.  
Her eyes focused and she looked around, seeing that she was back at her forest but there were no ruins. They'd all disappeared, pulverized into nothingness.  
Arien walked slowly back to her town, feeling like she was walking on heavy water. She laughed in delight when she saw some of her neighbors. She saw Maisie and ran to her, hugging her and her laughter convulsing into sobs. Arien babbled nonstop about all the things, gripping Maisie with so much strength she squirmed beneath her, tapping her back gently.  
Arien inhaled wetly, meeting Maisie's eyes. “A—a—are...” She frowned, trying to control her breathing.  
Maisie threw back her soggy ringlets with a deft hand. “Your father is, though he has some gashes. It was dreadful, this old woman appeared out of nowhere with some food and water, and made us not eat any of the things around us. Your mother didn't hear her.”  
Arien cleaned her own tears roughly, nodding. “S—so she's...”  
“Yes,” Maisie said with a nod. “She didn't come. The old hag said she'd take care of her. We also saw the potions master fighting against a very ugly, green giant.”  
“He fought the giant?” Arien said shrilly. “Tell me he's okay!”  
Maisie nodded with a gentle smile. “Oh yes, he's fine. They fought over a charm, the potions master roared quite a lot. Half didn't make, I think he's not entirely right in the head.”  
“He's fine, Maisie. Don't you spread those lies,” Arien shook her, glaring.  
Maisie smirked, giving her a smug eyebrow. “Of course, Jecie. I know you're fond of the old hag.”  
Arien left her and ran to her parent's house. She wondered when she'd stopped thinking of it as her home. Mr. Ashford was sprawled on his ratty couch, a book on his lap. His cheekbone had a gash, so did one of his arms, a part of his neck, his collarbone, his leg was held high by the small table.  
She hugged him, nestling over his body, crushing his book. He protested quite vehemently about “Please, at least put it somewhere horizontal.” which she ignored and squeezed him harder. He complained about it, patting her head.  
When he finally went quite because both of them had finished telling each other about their adventures, Arien rose and smiled at him with a nod.  
“I've got to go home,” Arien said.  
Jivies Ashford leapt from the couch very alarmed. “Home? You're home! Now that your mother has left us, I'll need someone to take care of me. And of course, we wouldn't want you tiring yourself with the potions master. It's all liquified and forgotten, you'll stay here.”  
Arien stared, feeling her warm middle go cold, and straightened her shoulders. “No, Father. My place is with the potions master, that's my home now. I'm sure you'll find someone else to take care of you. I'll go now.”  
She kissed his forehead, ignoring his protests and ran outside.  
Arien kept running till she arrived at the potions master cottage. She slammed inside, startling a very full-of-things-in-his-arms potions master. She caught the things from the floor, threw herself at him with a grin and hugged hard.  
“Ow, ow, ow!” he protested, wincing. “I mustta admit my ribs ain't quite healthy. A giant socked me, almost snapped me in a half.”  
Arien cried happily and immediately went into a stampede of all her adventures, and misadventures, trotting behind him as he went from room to room. Even when she ran out of air, her lungs hurting and her throat scratchy, she kept on going.  
The potions master listened to it all with a patient, indulging smile that he bore throughout lunch, through snack time, through dinner, and when bed-time came, Arien still wouldn't stop blabbering, he sat with her outside. They watched the stars as she told everything in as much detail, with some flourishes, as she could.  
He made her change clothes and wash, because she stunk, and gave her ointment for her gashes.  
When Arien stopped talking and the sun was breaking the skies with morning, she looked at the potions master napping softly beside her. She fetched a blanket, covering him and herself, feeling the weak midwinter sun on her face and liking it.  
+End


End file.
